(Side Story) A Triumph of the Heart Volume 3
by taerkitty
Summary: Volume Three follows SWA fratello Paolo Di Tomaso and his cyborg Dina taking to the field as well as living the twilight life shared by all SWA assets. OC fratello Paolo di Tomaso and Dina. CC Priscilla. Set during Raballo's time.
1. First Kill: Prologue

**Volume 3 Preface**

Volume 3 is a series of vignettes showing the Paolo Di Tomaso / Dina _fratello_ taking to the field as well as living the twilight life shared by all SWA assets.

**Prologue**

The day Priscilla dreaded was here. As per policy, Section One filed the quarterly order to dispose of evidence containers from year-old closed cases. In two weeks' time, they would be incinerated.

Officially Priscilla's job title was intelligence analyst, but she did much more than that. Between her encyclopedic knowledge from analyzing all the after-action reports, and her being the go-to person in the office, Priscilla could easily have changed the policy, misfiled that one box, or one of many other acts to keep this day from coming to pass.

However, her domain was limited to Section Two, the unseen half of the Social Welfare Agency.

Section One served as the Social Welfare Agency's public face. After Section Two performed their wet work and faded away, Section One would step forward and perform their thorough investigations, ignoring the news media behind the crime-scene tape and police barricades.

Priscilla weighed her options. They were few, and poor. Section One and Two had a long-standing rivalry, so inter-departmental cooperation was nominal on the good days. Priscilla was developing a friendship with Elenora Gabrielli, one of the few women working in Section One, but it was a recent development, and a tenuous relationship. She considered mislabeling the box so it would be spared, but the cost should that act be discovered was too high.

In the end, she resigned herself to the inevitability of its fate, but gave herself leave to see it one last time.

Ξ§§§Ξ

The well-gnawed pencil inscribed another slow circle in the air between them, guided by the broad man's yellowed teeth and rough lips. "I don't see why Section Two cares about this box. It's been a year since this file was closed."

Priscilla took a deep breath. She couldn't tell if Romano was objecting to her request simply because she was from Section Two or he was simply being lazy. "It's due for destruction, right?"

"Yeah, but I still don't see why—"

"One of the deceased, Favianne DeAngelis? Her daughter is one of our cyborgs. I need to take pictures of DeAngelis' personal effects to test if the cyborg is rejecting our conditioning and regressing."

The pencil dropped. "You did what? Holy… You … Section Two… You're monsters!"

Priscilla narrowed her eyes, thinned her lips in a most unwelcoming grimace of a smile. "So, when do I get to see the box?"

Ξ§§§Ξ

Section One provided an interrogation room for Priscilla's errand. She ignored the one-way mirror, though she was confident that she was being recorded. The box contained all evidence from the failed bombing attempt at the Impregilo S.p.A. meeting. Umberto Panarello's effects, each in a sealed transparent bag, Priscilla set aside in a neat pile. Favianne DeAngelis's bags she photographed slowly, trying to make some permanent memory of these physical bonds with her once-mentor.

She did not photograph the maid's uniform Favianne wore when she died. _That's not her. That's not how I want to remember her. Not all that blood and…_ She gave a shudder as she set it atop the modest blouse and slacks Section One found in the hotel bathroom.

An unsealed bag held smaller bags, each containing scraps of paper or keys. Priscilla noted that, aside from her falsified identity card and driver's license, Favianne did not possess any other cards - no memberships, no credit cards, not even a library card.

_What sort of life were you living, Favianne?_

The paper scraps were mundane. A receipt. A second. A fare ticket. A shopping list, scribbled in haste.

_What's this?_

Priscilla held in her hand a handwritten receipt, the fields filled by strong, archaic letters. The ink on the page looked pressed on, but black, not the faint blue / light-grey of modern carbonless copies.

_Carbon...less?_

Priscilla feigned a coughing fit. As she brought her hand to her cover her mouth, the small, sealed evidence bag floated past her neckline into her blouse.


	2. First Kill: Chapter 1: Errors

**_First Kill_**** Chapter 1: Errors**

Paolo walked past the stone columns delineating the building from the inner courtyard, but mechanically. His eyes stared at the slip of paper he held carefully, almost reverently, with both hands.

The Captain walked beside him, nodding. "Sometimes, this sort of dirty business pays poorly. Sometimes…"

After a low whistle, Paolo finished the thought. "Sometimes, it pays well. Very well."

"Indeed. It is just a matter of finding someone, or," Raballo indicated the compound with a slow wave of his hand, "or something that can use our skills and passion."

They walked on, each to his own thoughts.

Raballo stopped before the door leading to the operations area. "Now's the time we earn those little slips of paper. Remember Rule Fourteen?"

Puzzled, Paolo recited. "Yes, sir. Excellence is not doing a single great thing, but a series of small things done great properly."

They entered, and The Captain thrust his chin at a corkboard separated into three vertical sections. The leftmost one had one piece of paper pinned to it. The middle had a handful. The rightmost section was covered, pages overlapping like shingles on a rooftop.

"This is our job board. Never let The Director hear you say you have nothing to do. If you're not on ana high priority op, you're either doing paperwork, running drills, or you're working one of these little smaller jobs. Now that section," he pointed to the furthest, the left column, "is for the more experienced agents. I would advise you and I work a few of these first." He tapped the storm of paper plastered over the nearest section. "Then we'll work one or two of those in the middle before we start in on the 'A' jobs."

Paolo pocketed his check and started looking over the 'C' jobs.

Ξ§§§Ξ

"This is a 'B' job. Are you sure?" Raballo gave him the too-familiar stare, head minutely tilted, eyebrow barely raised.

Paolo took in a deep breath. "I'm up to it."

"Not you. Her. Dina. You and I, we hold back. We guide, we mop up, and, if needed, we catch any fish that wiggle off the hook. They're the ones who go in. They get their hands dirty."

After a heartbeat's pause, Paolo nodded once, firmly. "She's ready. Besides, she's trained with Claes. What did she have to say?"

"'Adequate.' That's all. 'Adequate.'" Raballo lifted himself from his desk chair, favoring his weak leg. "She's a girl of few words."

Paolo grinned at his old mentor. "She suits you."

The Captain grunted and reached for his cane. "They say the girl changes to suit her handler. Sometimes, they mirror. Other times, they complement."

Paolo lifted an eyebrow.

Raballo shook his head. "Never mind. Some things you have to learn for yourself."

The younger man fell in behind his onetime-mentor. "She seems so unlike me. I don't know how she does it, but she is so happy all the time."

Wordlessly, Raballo stepped through the door.

Though the Captain's back was to him, Paolo could see in his memory that expression, those lips pressed thin. "I know, sir. I'm being too soft. Again."

Only years of working together allowed Paolo to hear the soft and short grunt. Mentally, he winced at the memory of the accompanying stare.

"Are you going to work the 'C' job before or after the other one?"

Paolo looked at the other slip of paper in his hand. "I hadn't decided. Probably before. It doesn't look that much different than the last one, the museum retrieval."

Raballo closed the door after Paolo followed him through. "That's a good choice. It'll give her a chance to get her legs back under her."

"Hm?" Paolo averted his eyes, his thoughts wandering to that very odd conversation with Massim. "She seemed fine to me."

"Do you know what their first priority is?"

Rather puzzled, Paolo turned and regarded his mentor. "To finish the mission at any cost."

"To protect us. Not even to finish their mission. To protect us."

"All right…" Paolo nodded, comprehending the words, and sensing, but barely missing the context. He found it frustrating.

"You'll learn to look behind the smile." He stopped, leaned on his cane, and took a deep breath. "Yes, even Claes smiles. Though, she only does it when she's with me. And, yes, sometimes that smile means something other than it seems."

"Yes, sir. I'll be sure to be more …" Paolo scratched the nape of his neck. "More thorough, I guess."

"Just learn to listen to her better. At the center of the labyrinth, you'll find not the Minotaur, just a very lonely little girl."

They walked out the dormitory and into the springtime air. Though the skies were overcast, streams of light shone through like staves. That sight lifted Paolo's mood slightly.

"Say, can I see the job spec sheet again?"

Dutifully, Paolo handed it to The Captain.

"I see. Going to see an old friend, eh?" He handed it back.

"Cirulli." Paolo smiled. "I was surprised to see his name, but it makes sense once I thought about it. He helped me back in my SISMI days, so it makes sense he's still a good source of intel."

Raballo gave a soft rumble hum from his throat and his mouth firmed. The younger man waited for him to speak, this too a familiar tell. After a short while, Raballo said, "The job sheet has very specific instructions. Make sure you follow them."

"Yes, sir."

"Also…"

"Yes, Captain?"

"I don't care what you do with your money, but are you still…"

Paolo nodded, his eyes admiring the greenery and flowers of the courtyard. "Yes, I'm still sending a bit to the widow. Not much."

"It's been a while. I think you can let go of that now, no?"

"No. Besides, it doesn't have to help her. It helps me sleep. That's worth it."

"That's good. Well, good luck."

As they turned, Paolo felt a comforting sense of routine, a _rightness_ of the moment. He thought back to his first days as a liaison to the GIS. His mentor's confidence, the upright carriage, the quiet yet palpable presence, memories of these flooded back into Paolo's thoughts. Though his pace was now slowed by the limp and the cane, he still had that unhurried efficiency but intense purpose, that air of directed energy that caused most people to subconsciously step out of his way.

"So what's your plan?"

Paolo glanced at the slip of paper. "The meeting is next Tuesday. That gives us a lot of time to get the basic layout, to plan it, and to run drills."

The captain grunted as he gave a small nod.

They walked down the male dormitory hallway. As they exited, Raballo looked at the cloudy afternoon skies. "Will it rain?"

Paolo blinked back his surprise at the odd question. "I don't know. I mean, they don't look that dark.."

"Next Tuesday, Paolo."

With a fast-sinking heart, replied, "I don't know, Captain." _But I should._

Echoing his thoughts, his mentor made clear his disappointment as he spoke. "You were the one who picked the job. You knew the date. You should have checked for the basic conditions before even coming to me. Rule Three."

"Any missed opportunity to prepare is an opportunity given to the enemy."

"You're getting sloppy, Di Tomaso. Watch it."

Ξ§§§Ξ

Given their mien, most people stepped aside for them as they traversed the crowded operations floor, save one.

'Most people' did not describe Priscilla. With a matching demeanor that caused others to yield to her stride, she closed on them, was upon them. "Captain," she said, her curt nod passing for a greeting. "Please excuse me while I discuss something with Paolo."

An iron grasp trapped his hand, and Paolo found himself being pulled to one side before either men could form a proper response.

"Uh, what is this about?"

"You must remember, this is her first real mission. And you chose a combat mission. The museum run was just another training run, and even that one didn't go as smoothly as you thought it would, did it?"

Not daring to look away, Paolo shook his head. He took a breath to speak, to defend himself, but the glint in her eyes melted that inclination away.

"Real world ops are nothing like training missions, Paolo. And live-fire jobs are even riskier. What made you think that restaurant job was a good idea?"

Unsure whether to speak or just gape further at this hereunto-unseen-side to the intelligence analyst, Paolo wordlessly opened and closed his mouth.

"Well?"

He swallowed, it barely slaking his parched mouth. "It's a pretty straightforward job. We go in, we pick up the ledger, we leave no witnesses. It's…" The word died in his mouth.

"Say it." Her brows lowered, her eyes reminded him of gun slits.

"Say what?"

"Finish your sentence. You were going to say 'It's easy,' right?"

Caught between two poor choices, Paolo opted for honesty. "Uh, yes. I was. How wrong am I?"

Priss sighed. The anger in her eyes faded as her left hand massaged the bridge of her nose. Her stare released Paolo's eyes. "Who knows? You might be the one to break the trend. Most of the girls' first combat missions were, well, _disaster_ is too strong a word, but they didn't go as planned. Half the times, the girls got hurt, too."

Paolo looked down, expecting to see a dagger protruding from his abdomen. How else to explain that clench, that feeling of being impaled by ice-cold steel. "How bad?"

Priscilla's left hand moved between them, pantomiming a patting motion. "Nothing that horrible. The girls are very tough. I don't want to tempt the fates and say they're _indestructible_, but they're very tough."

"But the missions. Were they … successful?"

As he spoke, with each word, the anger on her face was slowly replaced by something more introspective, something lower in intensity, but promising a much longer duration. It was pity. Her face was weighed with the sadness of pity. "You don't understand, do you?"

"No… I guess I … I don't?"

"The girls will do anything for you handlers. You don't even have to say a word. They'd sooner …" She paused, trying to marshal thoughts into words. "They'll do anything to avoid letting you handlers down. Of course the missions were successful. That's why half of them got hurt."

"So what do I do?" Paolo felt the pit of ice turn into an endless hollow in his gut.

"The job, of course." Priscilla gave a wan smile, but the heaviness of her heart made it brief and slight.

He tried to return it, and found his equally burdened. "I'm sure we'll make it through."

Priscilla nodded. "I'm sure you will, too. That's not my fear, though. Don't you see? She's still … she's still so malleable." She looked at him and her eyes grew large. "Oh, my. You don't understand, do you? She's … think of her as a very young child. A baby, even. What she sees, what she feels, all of it, they'll affect who she'll be."

She took a deep breath.

Paolo declined the opportunity to interrupt.


	3. First Kill: Chapter 2: Eumoiriety

**_First Kill_**** Chapter 2: Eumoiriety**

The sun felt good. It was a clear day, the perfect day to be outside. Here on the flat grassy field, the two fratelli did not give any thought to their good fortune. Instead, one held binoculars just below his eyes, pointed where he turned his body to look. The other merely smiled with pride.

A few meters in front of them was the first run of stout white rope, strung a few centimeters above the ground, supported by wooden pegs to which they were tied, taped, and stapled. They ran in straight lines, describing large rectangles, smaller rectangles, but all of them adjacent to one another and with gaps cut in the rope at many of the common sides for rectangles laid out side-by-side. The field wasn't quite a maze delineated by the white cord.

It was a floor plan.

At the furthest corner of the simulated building, two girls stared at each other, each down on one knee. One held a leather book bag open; the other had both hands in it.

"Go!" Raballo shouted, then brought the binoculars to his eyes.

Claes brought her hands out of the book bag smoothly. Her right held a Heckler & Koch VP70 select-fire pistol. Her left hand emerged with the rectangular plastic butt stock. She smoothly latched the two together as she rose. She was shouldering the weapon even before she was fully erect.

Dina fumbled for half a second in her bag, then handed Claes a large metal cylinder. Once that was removed from her hand, she dove into her bag again, then her right hand came up holding the Beretta 90Two and her left hand held its silencer. As she pivoted and stood, she attached the silencer, then she pointed her pistol at the gap in the ropes with her right hand, leaving her left free to tap Claes' shoulder.

On that signal, the other girl clamped the stock beneath her armpit. Quickly, she screwed on her own silencer. Once done, she brought the weapon up. With her free hand, she returned the touch onto Dina's arm.

They stepped through the doorway. Claes entered first with her pistol at the ready. Immediately, Dina followed, her 90Two held in both hands pointing down and to her right.

Claes fired, and three white plastic balls, each 6 millimeters in size, ripped through a life-sized cardboard man shape.

She dropped to one knee and fired again, and a third time. These were single shots.

Dina brought her pistol to battery as Claes knelt and fired standing, knees slightly crouched. She also fired three times, though her Airsoft pistol only shot one bb at a time.

The cardboard figure was well-perforated about the torso, and sported a few holes in his head as well.

"Stop!" Raballo lowered the binoculars, but continued to peer into the eyepieces. His fingers tabbed some buttons on the top of the two squat, rubberized tubes.

"That was great, girls!" Paolo smiled all the brighter.

Dina lowered her weapon and worked the safety, then approached her handler. She laid the pistol down carefully on the open bed of the pickup truck parked behind the two men.

Claes also safed her weapon and set it besides Dina's pistol. In contrast to Dina, who stood in front of Paolo basking in his pride, Claes merely stopped moving, one hand still on her pistol.

Paolo reached down and patted Dina's head. "That's the way to do it."

Raballo walked over to the cardboard starship captain, studied it, and walked back. He stopped next to both Paolo and Dina. Where they stood, the three formed a triangle. "Why did you shoot for the head again, Dina?"

The young cyborg swallowed, then looked up at the captain. "It's… it's a more reliable kill?"

She relaxed when he nodded, but cringed at his next words. "That's only if you are accurate. Claes, body shot."

The other cyborg spun about, sighted at the cardboard figure for but a pause, then fired.

While the bb did not rip through the target at this distance, everyone still heard the impact.

"Hm. Now, do the same thing and aim for the head."

This time, the sound of the pistol's action was all they heard.

"Yes, sir." She said, then swallowed, and opened her mouth slightly, but closed it immediately when she caught Raballo's eyes.

"You missed. There were fifteen holes in Kirk's head last time, and only seventeen this time. Body shots only."

"I'm sorry, sir." Dina stared at her shoes.

"I don't care if you're sorry or not, just don't do it."

Dina's acknowledgement was almost inaudible.

"All right, again."

From behind them, Jean's voice called. "Let me show you how it's done."

Everyone turned to see the blond man in his tan trench coat stride toward them, young Rico half a step behind.

Paolo looked at Raballo, who nodded. Jean was the senior handler, so they deferred to him.

"This is the ledger retrieval, right? What's the plan?"

Raballo cleared his throat. "The girls are in the bathroom. See the school bag back there? Over there. Claes comes out first, fires a three-shot-burst to disorient them and take out the bodyguard. After that, the girls pick them off, three each."

Jean nodded. "Sounds simple. You ready, Rico?"

As an answer, Rico trotted over to the bag. Claes, VP70 in hand, followed.

Paolo glanced toward the truck. "But she didn't take the Airso-"

"We have our own."

Paolo glanced over at the trees beyond the field. He saw no one there. He barely followed the simulation run. Instead, he kept glancing back between Dina and the tree line.

When the run was over, the Captain Kirk figure had three holes in it that were slightly larger than the others.

As a smiling Rico skipped back over to the adults, Jean said by way of explanation, "I want her to be familiar with her CZ-75."

Rico joined them just as Jean turned around and started walking, so she merely fell in step.

To the wind, Jean added, "And I don't want her to use toys. That's why."

Raballo noted Claes' cloudy face. "Okay, let's call it a day. Bring Kirk, leave the walls."

Dina merely stared at the departing fratello, her mouth slightly open.

Paolo patted her on her right shoulder blade, "Go get your bag."

"Yes, Signore Paolo."

Ξ§§§Ξ

"This is delicious, Priss. How did you find this trattoria?" Paolo nurtured another spoonful of their signature trifle-like _Zuppa Inglese_.

"Giorgio told me about it." She thought back to that night. "It was a long night, and he brought me two Sfogliatellii. It was a bad night, and that kept me going."

"Oh? What happened, Priscilla?"

Priscilla looked down at the little girl with the wide and open eyes staring at her.

"Uh, I found out a friend had passed away."

"Was it your friend Favianne?"

Priscilla Meleori blinked and looked away. She found herself looking for help in Paolo's equally-uncertain eyes. After a deep breath, she simply said, "Yes."

Paolo's phone chimed, and he excused himself.

"Priscilla? Remember when you said that some secrets can help a sad person feel better?"

"Uh-huh."

"Could I share one with you?"

Priscilla urged the corners of her mouth upward. "Sure. What is it?"

"I think I'm in love, Priscilla."

"Uh, is it someone at the Agency?" She felt the smile truly materialize, and it warmed her.

"Yes." Dina's eyes shone.

"Is it … a handler?" Enjoying the game, Priscilla leaned in so they were almost whispering.

"Uh-huh."

Priscilla match Dina in her smile, in brightness and bliss. "And what do you love about him?"

"He's so strong, and so … so strong. He's a born leader. I'd follow him anywhere."

This puzzled her. "Uh, isn't he also, uh, patient and ... understanding?"

Dina shook her head, causing her hair to fan slightly. "Nope. Not at all. He's so… so demanding. He never smiles, and that makes me want to do my best to see if I can make him smile. Have you ever felt that way about someone, Priscilla?"

"One time- Wait, so it's not Paolo? You don't… you don't love Paolo?"

"Of course I love Signore Paolo! He's like my poppa! Don't you love your poppa? It's that like that. I love him a lot, but … not in the same way like this. I love Signore Paolo because I know I have to, and I know he loves me because he has to, so—"

"He doesn't have to love you! Paolo loves you because he _wants_ to! Some handlers aren't as nice as Paolo! Wait… you said he's a handler…"

"Yes, Signorina Priscilla, I think I'm in love with Signore Jean."


	4. First Kill: Chapter 3: Endophagy

**_First Kill_ Chapter 3: Endophagy**

"So, um, what did I miss?" Eyes distant, Paolo appeared from the edges of Priscilla's confused mind.

She blinked three times quickly, then forced a smile to the fore. "Oh, uh… just, uh, girl talk. Girl talk, right, Al… I mean Dina?"

"Uh-huh, Signore Paolo. I was just sharing a secret with Signori-," Dina inhaled. "With Priscilla."

Paolo sat down and regarded the remains of his dish. "Well, that's nice. It's good that you have someone you can tell your secrets to."

The ambient conversations in the restaurant filled in the silence at their table.

Given this opportunity to recover, Priscilla squeezed Dina's hand. "And it's my turn to show Dina something: we ladies go to the bathroom together. Don't we, Dina?"

A "but" was formed at her lips, but Dina swallowed it back. She nodded once, then froze. "Is that okay, Signore Paolo?"

"Hm? Oh, that's fine. I need to … make another phone call anyhow. I'll meet you outside." Without waiting for their response, he stood, gathered his jacket and threaded his way out the door.

The dessert was not touched since before his first phone call.

Priscilla shrugged as she gathered their coats and bags. "Oh, your bookbag is heavy, Dina."

"Here, let me, please." She casually relieved the older lady of the leather satchel-like bag with only two fingers on her left hand.

Once in the restroom, Priscilla checked the two stalls. Satisfied, she squatted with her back against the door. "Dina, listen. That's not a very good idea. Saying you're in love with Jean, that is."

"Will it hurt Signore Paolo?"

"Probably." She studied the young cyborg's eyes. "Yes. It will hurt him."

"What if I don't tell him?"

"Do you want to keep it a secret from him? Do you want to keep _anything_ a secret from him?"

"No, I don't. But, if it keeps him from getting hurt, then isn't that the right thing to do?"

"No, the _right_ thing to do is to not fall in love with another handler, Dina. And think of what Rico will feel."

Dina's eyes grew wide. "I … I didn't think of that."

"What if you did make Jean smile," Priscilla saw her opening. _I don't think there's a chance of that, but if it will stop this…_ "He doesn't smile for Rico. If he were to smile for you, how would that make Rico feel?"

"Pretty bad, I guess?" Dina's unsure voice was so soft a whimper, Priscilla had to lean forward.

"She would feel very sad, jealous, and maybe even angry." Priscilla forced back visions of what wreckage would result from that. "So, you see why this is a very bad idea?"

Her lips quivering, Dina couldn't speak. She only nodded, blinking so as not to allow the tears their escape.

Priscilla hugged her, held her until she stopped trembling.

Ξ§§§Ξ

The ride back to the Agency compound was short and somber. Each of the trio kept only their own counsel.

At the girls' dormitory, a subdued Dina exited and recited a wish for the adults to have a good evening. Pro forma pleasantries were exchanged.

At the adult's dormitory, Priscilla excused herself, opting not to wait for Paolo to park the Audi. More bland wishes for good evenings were autonomously offered.

Alone, Paolo walked back to his room deep in thought.

The Captain stood outside his door. The sight, the surprise, the curiosity roused Paolo from his miasma. "Captain?"

"I figured you would want to talk about what happened at the dry run."

"Hm?"

"With Jean."

"Oh." Paolo blinked. "He's field lead, right? I don't have a problem, then."

"With him, at least."

Paolo silently weighed whether he found it better that Raballo knew him so well. Memories of past attempts to hold thoughts back from his ex-mentor caused the corner of his mouth to tighten, to rise. "Doctor Manfredi called."

"Time for your yearly again?"

"No, I did that before my interview here."

Raballo nodded and gave a soft grunt. "I'm guessing it's not good news."

"It's not bad. Yet, at least."

"If it does go that way, you know I can't cover for you like before."

Paolo gave a sigh. "Should I tell them?"

"That's not the question you should be asking."

"You're right. What will happen to Dina?"

The Captain shrugged. "They're all prototypes. I don't know what will happen. I can make a guess, though."

"And your guess is…"

"Well, according to Bianchi, the girls imprint on us. Individually. They're like baby birds. The first person they talk to, that's who they're programmed to bond to. By their programming, it's for life."

Paolo swallowed.

"Don't worry. The Agency won't terminate her. There's too much invested in her to do that. Most likely result is that they'll re-initialize her and assign her to someone else."

"Can you … you know." Paolo could not bring the words to the fore.

"No. We only get one girl each. There are too many reasons for it, but their jealousy is probably the most important. It will be someone else."

"Who? Someone else in the agency?"

"I doubt it. The support staff aren't handler material. They'll find someone new."

"How about Marcello?"

"He's married now. That disqualifies him. Out of the old team, you were the only one that fit."

"No one here?"

Raballo shook his head. "No. She wouldn't work."

In spite of his mood, that brought a wan grin to Paolo. "It's that obvious, hm?"

"Only to me."

"That would have made it easier. That way, she would be in good hands."

Raballo grunted. His head remained still as stone.

"What am I missing, Captain?"

"They told you not to rely on the repair process, right?"

"Not get her hurt? I wasn't planning on it." Paolo was caught off-balance by the change in topic.

"Besides that, you know why we shouldn't rely on getting the girls repairs, right?"

Paolo blinked in confusion. "Why?"

"Repairing them requires more conditioning serum."

"Oh. Yes, they told me. It can regress their personality."

"That's all they've determined for sure so far. However, they're investigating other possible side effects."

"That doesn't sound good."

"There's indications that it may shorten their lifespan."

Paolo winced. "All right. Point noted. But how does this apply to me telling them about…" He tapped a finger against his temple.

"Reinitializing them takes a massive dose of the conditioning serum."

"Oh. So it's not so simple."

"Life never is, Di Tomaso. It never is."

Ξ§§§Ξ

Dina placed her bag on the dented and scarred table in her dormitory room. She looked at the empty top bunk and wished she had someone else to talk to, someone her age. Priscilla's advice rang true, but try as she might, she could not still those butterflies in her heart when she thought of the tall, blond, stone-faced handler.

As was her nightly routine, she deftly unpacked the bag. From foam-lined pockets, she removed the Beretta 90Two, the two spare magazines, the suppressor, and the medical kit.

From the underside, she pulled at a tassel seemingly tied to one of the straps to secure the flap. 28 centimeters of Gerber Guardian Mk II double-edged fighting knife slid free.

She studied the blackened blade and ran a finger lightly along it. A faint tingle, a slight bit of friction warned her that the blade was about to bite into her. _Sharp enough._ She slid it back in its hidden sheath.

With confident, efficient motions, Dina field-stripped the Beretta 90Two. She ensured all the parts were properly lubricated, and inspected the barrel, firing pin, and chamber for residue. _All good._

Satisfied, she retrieved the silk scarf from her chest of drawers. By the time she seated herself again, the scarf was rolled into a band the width of her palm. She tied it over her eyes, lifted the left side enough to verify the pistol's parts were sitting in their correct positions, then lowered the material over her left eye.

The young girl took a deep breath, placed her hands in her lap, and whispered, "Go."

Thirty-seven seconds later, she threw the blindfold off and stared at the pistol, now reassembled. There was once a time this was a goal, something she thought would make Signore Paolo proud of her.

Now, it was merely a matter of rote. Her handler was always encouraging, always praising her. Dina thought back to Priscilla's words. "He doesn't have to love you. Paolo loves you because he wants to."

_I guess he does. But do I deserve it?_

Bothering only to take off her patent leather Mary Jane shoes, Dina crawled into her bunk and tried to sleep.


	5. First Kill: Chapter 4: Eidolons

**_First Kill_ Chapter 4: Eidolons**

"We haven't lost a handler so far, thank goodness. Three months ago, Lauro was nearly killed, but Elsa blocked the shot. Why do you ask?" Priscilla filed the data discs with practiced efficiency as she spoke.

"What happened?" Paolo handed her another handful, these labelled with a red label on their cases.

"Thanks." Priscilla accepted the discs. "Milan police picked up a Serbian gangster who was on our watch list. They wouldn't hold him for us, so Lauro and Elsa drove up to try to convince the police in-person, but he was already released. As they were leaving the police station, someone tried to take Lauro out."

"Drive by?"

"No, sniper from across the plaza."

"How badly was Elsa, uh, hurt?"

"It went through her arm and into her shoulder. Why?" Priscilla finished filing the red-labelled cases and extended her hand.

"Well, it's only a matter of time before Dina gets hurt, I figure. I wanted to know what to expect."

"No, you asked about what happens if a _handler_ gets shot. You've been shot before. Twice, according to your file, so you know what to expect when that happens."

Paolo nodded. "I know what to expect if I'm lucky, at least. What about if I'm not so lucky?" He handed her the last pile of cases, the ones with black labels.

"Well, you're a serviceman, so you get a nice state funeral, if that's what you mean. Your next of kin will be told some story about how you were a hero in some secret mission they can't talk about. The Agency won't be mentioned of course." She looked him in the eye. "You know all this. Why are you asking?"

He nodded at the five optical disk cases. "Can I tell you over coffee?"

"I'll be done in an hour. Make it a profiterole?"

Ξ§§§Ξ

Paolo knocked on the door. He was hoping Lauro De Sica wasn't home.

"Who is it?" The voice wasn't what he expected. Most of the time, Paolo only heard Lauro speak to his cyborg. He was terse and rough, barking orders and always keenly edged. Here, the voice was easygoing and almost languid.

"It's Paolo. Can I come in?"

"Sure. I just opened a bottle of amaretto. Want some?"

Paolo entered. "No, I don't want to stay too long."

"Sit, sit. So, why the visit?" Lauro's face had a slight flush, and his eyelids seemed lower than usual.

"I was curious about the time you almost got shot."

"Hm? Oh, Monza."

"I thought it was Milan."

"It's north of Milan. Sure. Milan. Monza, Milan, whatever."

"Monza, then. You were exiting a police station…"

"Yeah." He paused, and his eyes focused, held it for a few seconds, then relaxed. "Yeah. We were supposed to pick up some guy, but he was already gone. We had his hotel, so we were going there next. I step out the front door, and WHAM, she knocks me to the ground. I remember that. I was sore for days. Those kids hit _hard_."

Paolo nodded. "What about Elsa?"

"Oh. It was through-and-through here," he tapped his right forearm, "and ended up here." Lauro patted his right shoulder. "Got her back to the car, got out the first-aid kit, then got her back here. Had to talk my way through a few cops, too."

"I see."

"Yeah. She was good as new in a week. We went back to Monza, but the guy never went back to his hotel. Waste of my time. You sure you don't want a shot? Of this, I mean." Lauro wagged the bottle.

"Thank you, but no. I was wondering, when you said, 'Good as new,' did seem, well, different when she came back?"

"Hm..." Lauro took another sip. "Well, she was a little bit slower at first, but shaped up in a day or two. Why?"

"Well, in this line of work, sooner or later, bad luck catches up with us. We can be as careful-"

"Yeah, but they give us a second chance. They'll take a bullet, a knife, a bomb, anything. Just to keep us safe. They're like a good luck charm."

Paolo exhaled slowly. He didn't notice his clenched jaw until now. "All right. What I mean was, did she act any different?"

"No. Same old. Like I said, a little slower, but we straightened that out in a few days."

Paolo could imagine how that went. "And you? Did you feel any-"

"Different? Yeah. I felt lucky. Medical said that was a 7.62x54R, you know, the Russian sniper rifle? That round can be pretty rough on a person."

"What about the week while she was out? How-"

"Look, I know what you're trying to ask. No. No, I didn't feel bad, or sad, or guilty. She did what she was supposed to do. Nothing more, nothing less." Manners aside, Lauro put the bottle to his lips and tilted it back.

"But she's a-"

"Tool. She's a tool. She's supposed to do what I say, and she's supposed to protect me. That's it. That's all she is." He lowered the bottle only to speak. Once done, he resumed drinking from it.

Even without drinking the alcohol, Paolo felt his cheeks start to warm. "I can't accept that. She's still a girl, and-"

"She _was_ a girl. She was a _stupid_ girl, an _idiotic_ girl. She was in love with some guy, I don't remember who. Her teacher or something. Yeah, a teacher. Doesn't matter. I guess he said no. Smart choice. She threw herself off a bridge. Can you imagine that? Over some guy? What's worse is, they fix her up, and she does it _again_. And you know what? She failed. Again. She can't even commit suicide right. Idiot." His gaze shifted from Paolo at the start of the tirade and ended contemplating his hand and the emptied bottle.

Paolo didn't speak for fear of airing his true thoughts.

"You can think I'm a jerk for acting this way. Go ahead. Most of the others do. But, this is the right way to think of them. Tools. Any other way, and you're going to get hurt. Badly. Believe it."

Paolo merely glared at him.

"Yeah, I get it. I'm an ass. Well, I don't care. Thanks for ruining my night. Because of you, I'm going to get out some of the good stuff, and I don't plan to share." He jutted his chin at the door.

Ξ§§§Ξ

At the trattoria, Paolo stared at his espresso.

"I was going to ask why you were asking those questions earlier, but now I'm more curious why you think that's the way to drink an espresso."

"Hm?"

"Looking at it. You waiting for it to get cold so you can swallow it all at once?"

"No, just thinking."

"This isn't a good place for it. Too loud."

Priscilla's upbeat spirit gave Paolo a difficult choice: to be irritated at her, or force himself out of his mental miasma. He sighed, then forced a smile. "I asked Lauro about Milan."

"What did he say? It was pretty straightforward, as far as I remember. They never found the sniper, either. Then again, we're not very popular up North."

"They know about us?"

"No, they just don't like people from the South who work for state security. Normally, we don't share that, but Lauro showed them his credentials, and … well, I guess someone heard about it."

"I guess so."

"Did he tell you anything else?"

"No. Not about the incident. He told me a lot about him, though." Paolo shook his head slowly and sighed.

"He's … well, he gets the job done. He and Elsa are a good team. He always takes the hard jobs."

"Yeah. I'm glad for that."

"You can't change him. You can't change the other handlers too. They are who they are, and they think how they think. Just look after Dina, and you'll do your part."

"All right. I can do that."

"Good. Now, what about that strange question earlier? Why the sudden morbid curiosity? You didn't have a bad dream and then…"

"No, not really. I'm not worried if I die. Well, I am, but not when I was asking that. I'm wondering what would happen if I am unable to take jobs for a few months."

"Jose was recovering for a three or four months from a, uh, work-related injury." Priscilla tilted her head to indicate the other café patrons and made a pistol sign with her thumb and forefinger. "Marco worked with Henrietta during that time, but she stayed with Jose the whole time. Marco was there to make sure Henrietta didn't start to forget her training, that's all."

"Okay, that's good."

"You planning on being injured anytime soon?"

"No, but it could happen."

"Yes, but that's not why you're asking, is it?"

Paolo sighed. "No. I just got a call from my doctor. One of my numbers is moving the wrong way."


	6. First Kill: Chapter 5: Eirenism

**_First Kill_ Chapter 5: Eirenism**

Claes looked up at the scowling man, her eyes wide. "Please, sir. All the other stores are closed, and my sister really needs to use the bathroom."

As they rehearsed, Dina whimpered, "I can't hold it. I… I… I might-"

"Get in here!" A calloused hand sporting a snake tattoo around his thumb yanked Claes past the restaurant door. Like the windows, it was covered by a blue-and-white checkered curtain. "You too."

Once inside, he put one hand behind each girl and hustled them toward the back. A chorus of voices from one corner filled the otherwise-empty restaurant.

"Hey!"

"Mario! What's this?"

"Quick, put it away! Put it away!"

"Why'd you open the door, idiot?!"

He waved the other men to silence as he not-quite-gently nudged the two girls into the restroom. "Make it quick."

Claes nodded.

He closed the door. Through it, Claes and Dina heard his reply. "She was going to piss right outside on the mat!"

"So let her! This is kinda important, you know!"

"I just washed the entryway! I don't wanna hafta do it again."

Satisfied, the voices died down to a steady rumble.

From her book bag Dina handed Claes the customized Heckler & Koch VP70, then the buttstock. After Claes quietly clicked the two together, the smaller girl removed the silencer from its padded pocket. Claes gave a single dip of her chin in thanks and started twisting the oversized cylinder onto the threaded barrel.

Once done, she glanced again at Dina, who was doing likewise to her Beretta 90two. As she laid it down to shrug her book bag back on, it fell from her hand the last two centimeters.

The clattering seemed to echo in the bathroom.

"Sorry. This pistol is so big," Dina mouthed at the scowling older girl.

Raballo's voice boomed outside. _"You inside! Open the door! Carabinieri!"_

Claes locked eyes with Dina and mouthed the countdown.

_Three._

_Two._

_One._

The girls burst from the bathroom, rounded the corner and started firing at the half-dozen people, most pointing guns at the front door.

Claes fired first, her VP70 clattering off a three-round burst at the man holding a submachine gun.

Dina fired second, her trigger pooling red across her target's azure shirt at the third rib.

_Heart and lung shot,_ Claes thought. _Pretty good_. As she did, she methodically swept across the other four, each pull of her trigger loosing three rounds into each assailant. _That last one was almost able to get a shot off at me. I need to be faster_.

Her mulling was interrupted by sudden movement as one person, until now motionless, started running toward the kitchen. Claes swung her machine pistol to track the escaping man, but halted when her sweep neared Dina's motionless form.

"Dina. I missed one. Get him."

No response.

"Dina!"

The man ran past them and through the door.

A single suppressed gunshot from around the corner almost immediately afterwards startled her out of her paralysis. Eyes red and cheeks damp, she turned to Claes. "I… I… I'm… sorry."

Paolo walked through the kitchen door, a briefcase under his right arm holding a matching Beretta 90two, and dragging the slight body of the man who ran out of the killing zone with his other. "Look what the cat… Dina, what's the matter?"

Twin thumps reverberated in the desolate restaurant as the body and briefcase both hit the floor.

Claes nodded at Paolo. "Signore Di Tomaso." Without waiting for his acknowledgement, she started walking toward the front door.

Dina pointed with her free hand at the body she felled. "I shot him. One shot. I shot him."

Paolo walked over. "Not bad. Pretty good, actually - a profile shot is much harder. I don't see anything wrong with your placement. It's all right you didn't fire the two follow-up shots like we practiced. You still put him down, right? "

"I killed him." She nudged the body with her patent-leather shoe. "I killed him, and I don't feel any different."

"What?"

"You said that killing someone would change me, Signore Paolo. I don't feel any different." Tears quickened their flow as shivers racked her body. "Why? Why don't I feel different? What's wrong with me?"

Dina turned her gaze to her handler, eyes pleading for answers. "Signore Paolo, am I… am I defective?"

Ξ§§§Ξ

They walked the evening streets. Paolo politely declined Raballo's earlier offer to drive him and his charge back to the Agency. He hoped Dina would not be sad when they returned.

It didn't work. His attempts to ply her with cheer and sweets both failed. She mostly ignored the _gelato_, mumbling monotone replies at the melting pile as the two cookies slowly tipped, leaned, and eventually fell.

Still, his efforts continued. "You're fine, Dina. As I said already, I was the one who said the wrong thing."

"Yes, Signore Paolo."

He looked around. The streets weren't deserted, but no one was near enough to overhear. "Killing someone doesn't change the way you feel. Well, not always."

"If you say so, Signore."

"I say so."

"All right."

"So why are you still so… so unhappy?"

"I think … I think I was hoping it would."

"Why? I already told you, it doesn't. I shouldn't have said that in the first place."

"I… I was hoping it would make me…" Her voice trailed away.

"Make you … what?"

Her voice was nearly inaudible. "Whole."

"How so?"

"This is what I was meant to do, right, Signore Paolo?" She took a quick scan of their surroundings, then continued softly. "To eradicate the enemies of the State?"

Paolo took a deep breath. He nodded very slowly, but the simple word was frozen on his tongue.

"I did that. I fulfilled my purpose, but … I don't feel fulfilled."

"Would doing that again help?"

"Hm?" Curiosity lifted her eyes.

Paolo lifted his chin slightly. They were back along the same street as where they started the day. The restaurant where they massacred the Padanian cell was but two blocks away. Section One's crime scene vans no longer blocked the road. Crowds and police barricades no longer gathered on the sidewalk.

Two men exited a car, carefully sneaked past the police tape, and entered.

Dina nodded. She shook one shoulder free of her backpack and drew her pistol. She looked up to see Paolo doing the same.

He raced the first block, then quickly walked half of the remaining way. The final leg he quietly walked sideways with his back to the other storefronts. He stopped just before the first window.

Inside, the men stacked a chair atop a table by a wall. One held the furniture steady while the other was pulling something out from a vent.

Paolo turned back to Dina to relay the situation. His voice was low. "They're by the back right-"

Dina rammed him.

He slammed onto the sidewalk. His surprised cough stole all the air from his lungs.

The streetlights were eclipsed by flashes of gunfire; the night calm shattered first by muzzle reports, then the cries of glass as pieces fell from the storefront windows.

_The car! We forgot to check the car!_

Paolo raised one arm to shield himself from the rain of shards. Through clenched eyes, he saw Dina crouched above him, her pistol barely moving with each pair of shots she squeezed off.

The car roared off.

Dina turned and fired two rounds into the restaurant. A clatter of furniture and meat falling to the ground showed her shots to be true.

"Good work, Dina."

She looked down at him and smiled. "Signore Paolo? I'm sorry."

"For what, Dina?"

"For worrying. I'm not defective. I know that now."

He carefully placed his hand on the pavement, patting it to be sure it was free of glass. "I told you. What took you so ... long?"

Dina eased herself atop him. "Because I did what I was supposed to ... to do, Signore Pao..."

"Dina!" Her jacket was dark with blood.

"It's.. it's all right, Signore Paolo. It doesn't ... hurt."


	7. First Kill's Epilogue

_**First Kill's**_** Epilogue**

"…because now he had many friends with whom he ate pasta."

Paolo closed the book. "So, what did…"

Dina looked like an angel with her eyes closed, motionless in the hospital bed. She slept.

Paolo looked at the one-way mirror making up a quarter of the wall. He exhaled slowly, lowered his head equally slowly, and raised one hand to beckon forth his observer.

Priss entered. She stood at the door, arms crossed.

Paolo turned from her and looked again at the mottled pattern on the floor tile between his shoes. "Thank you for the book. She liked it."

"So does Angelica."

The two of them let a silent chill settle in the room.

"All right. Let me have it. I deserve it." Paolo addressed the ground.

"It looks like I can't say anything to make you feel any worse. I just wish you listened to me."

"About?" This turned his head to face Priss, who stalked toward him.

"The girls having bad luck on their first missions. I _told_ you not to push them. They _know_ how to do the job, whatever it is. What they don't know is how not to _over_do it."

"I was just trying to…" _To do what? To cheer her up? To help her out of that rut?_

_To make up for my mistake?_

"Do what? Buck the trend? Show off? Impress someone? Great job!"

"To help her, dammit. I told her killing someone changes you, and she took it literally."

"_Mannaggia_, you're an idiot! Of _course_ she took it literally. You're … you're like a god to her. Her heart and soul belongs to you!"

"I … I wanted to give her another chance to," He paused, the word caught in his throat. "To do what she's made to do. I was going to say-"

"-To say what? What could you have said? Face it, you messed up!"

"I was going to tell her that she was faster, that she was better at … at doing her job. That she changed."

Priss paused with her mouth open. She took in a breath. "You still got her hurt."

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"I told you the first mission is unlucky. Why weren't you more careful?"

"I … Hell, it doesn't matter. I still got her hurt."

"Like hell. It _matters_. Do you know why? It says to me that _you don't trust me_. It says to me that you think you know better. Well… well, you don't."

"No, that's not it. Okay, you're not going to believe me when-"

"Try me."

"All right. It sounds stupid, and it didn't matter in the end-"

"Tell me."

"This isn't her first mission. We … we silenced the family, remember? Cleaned up my loose end?"

"No. _You_ did it. You sabotaged their brakes. She didn't do anything. She watched."

Paolo blinked.

"_That's_ why she froze. Don't you get it? This was her first time, and you… you had to go ahead and tell her that she'd… What, that she would grow wings?"

Paolo had no reply. He sighed, and looked again at his feet.

A soft murmuring nudged at the heavy silence.

They both looked at the bed.

"Momma?" The voice was a whisper, a butterfly of words. "Pappy…"

Paolo's throat suddenly seized. His heart was impaled.

Priscilla patted her sheets, found her arm. "Shh. I'm here, Di- I'm here Alessia. I'm here." She gave Paolo a glare and jerked her head to the other side of the bed.

"Momma… please… Momma?"

Paolo breathed the words as softly as he could, exaggerating his mouth's movement. "But we're not-"

Equally soft, but with eyes hard and flinty, she replied, "Don't you have a soul? Stop thinking and start _feeling_." As she did, she worked the sheets away to reveal her arm.

She placed her hand in the little girl's hand.

It slowly closed. "Pappy… where are you, Pappy? Pappy?"

Paolo cleared his throat as he rounded the foot of the bed. "I'm here. I'm here sweetie."

"Momma… Pappy… please"

Paolo found her hand under the bedsheet. Hurriedly, he grasped it through the thin cloth.

With surprising strength, it wrapped around his. It wasn't a painful grip, merely an unexpectedly firm embrace, hand-in-hand.

"Please ... Momma, Pappy ... please stop fighting. Please..."


End file.
